


he just made my list of things to do

by neptunedemon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barcelona GPF, Canon Compliant, Crushes, Drinking, Everyone Loves Katsuki Yuuri, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sex, Introspection, M/M, Other non-victuuri ships are brief, YuYuu is one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/pseuds/neptunedemon
Summary: For all those hard fronts Yuri throws in people’s faces, he’s apparently pretty damn transparent about his (kinda annoying) crush on Yuuri Katsuki, because Chris and Phichit see straight through him. And then - as some crappy peace offering he most certainly didn’t ask for or want - they tell him about their own past (REALLY annoying) crushes on Katsuki.





	he just made my list of things to do

The thing is, while Yuuri is off galavanting around with his coach -- or whatever Viktor was supposed to be to him -- there's still everyone else forced to stay back at the hotel. Everyone being Yuri, because he's barely old enough for Yakov to trust alone in a foreign city.

But they're ALWAYS in foreign cities, so what the hell gives? Yakov's always saying how he can't be "let loose," as if Yuri would wreck some sort of havoc. He wasn't some goddamn kid. He'd traveled to Japan entirely alone, for fuck's sake, and that turned out fine.

So yeah, he could travel in the vicinity of the hotel, and tag along with Lilia or another older skater, but that was it. Not that he'd completely stayed in line with those rules. Yakov and Lilia disappeared often enough to make THAT easy.

Right now, Yuri is fuming silently into a half-empty cereal bowl from the complimentary breakfast bar. He's in the tiny cafe area and alone, how he likes it, mulling over how to escape this place and how to beat Katsudon tomorrow.

That's when someone drags a chair at his table out and plops down. A trays hit the table, adorned with a flakey glazed croissant, a pile of tiny strawberries, and a steaming mug. His fist tightens as he wonders through a million names for who the culprit of this intrusion might be, but finally he  looks up.

He frowns.

Not who he expected: Chris Giacometti. One of the skaters competing.

Still, this sucks -- he's busy. He's on the precipice of an accusatory question when some other guy takes another seat. Phichit Chalunont, ah -- Katsudon's friend. That guy who was way too smiley and kind.

"What do you two want?"

"Ah, the spitfire speaks," Chris remarks.

"Hey Yuri!" Phichit waves as if they're not sitting across from each other. Yuri scowls. He says his name like they're old friends. "It was great to finally meet you yesterday."

Yuri narrows his eyes and glances between them both. "Yeah, you too," he answers curtly. "What are you both doing?"

Chris shrugs, cutting a little slice of his pastry. It's got some sort of creme filling. Not very competition-friendly. "We saw you sitting here alone. What skate companions would we be to ignore you?"

"We aren't companions," Yuri grumbles the last word like the English is unfamiliar on his tongue. "We're competitors."

The two share a brief, knowing glance that they probably think Yuri doesn't notice. He does. It pisses him off more.

His stomach feels heavy as the semblance of his appetite dissipates. It's time to get out of here, and he grabs his dishes to do just that when Chris and Phichit dip into whatever conversation they must've been having before interjecting themselves at his table.

"So he totally tried the coach thing, and he hated it. He could never much manage himself, you know? And to have to do that for ten other skaters? Impossible."

Yuri's eyes stick to the rim of his bowl; he tries to listen without appearing mindful. "So that's why he's going back to school. For physical therapy, you think? Physics? No - for environmental biology. A complete 180."

They're talking about some skater's life post-retirement. Yuri's chest feels cold; it's a topic he's asked by stupid people all the time who don't know a damn about figure skaters. _What do you plan to do after skating? Post-retirement plans? You're so young, how long do you intend to do this?_ But fuck! This IS all there is. No one gets that.

Still, it makes him think about the future, and he desperately tries to grasp ideas and advice from older skaters and adults around him without being evident he's concerned.

Everyone's always just saying they plan to coach, though. Or they're already coaches.

It makes Yuri realize how few people he knows and how weak his connections are.

Sometimes he hopes he can just keep skating forever. He could find a way.

"I never skated in seniors with him, though," Phichit is saying.

"Ah, right. I bet Katsuki remembers him."

Yuri scowls and his pulse quickens. The name reminds him of tomorrow.

Phichit laughs. "I forget Yuuri is so much older than me!"

Chris points a pastry-loaded fork. There's a strawberry stuck to the end of it now, too. "We aren't that old. Are we, Yuri?" He winks.

"You're goddamn ancient, to me!" He grips his spoon in a fist.

"Aw," Chris pouts. "I forgot, I was warned you're the brutally honest type."

"Warned?" he spats. He knows it's bait but the idea of him being talked about by the others raises his hackles.

Chris looks to the ceiling as if he has to sift through encounters. "Hmm, was it Viktor?"

That would make sense. Yuri's half through an eye roll and a scoff when Chris corrects, "No, it must've been Yuuri. That's right." He meets Yuri's eyes and the grin there is horribly knowing. "He told me about your temper."

Heat rises to his face. "I-I'm not surprised he says crap about me."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Well, do you NOT have a temper?" He chews a bite of croissant and sips his coffee, and if he's thinking Yuri will answer that, he's dead wrong. Phichit is typing something rapidly on his phone, zoned out of the convo.

Chris continues, "Well, he also talked about the nice time in Japan you all had, and how good of a skater you are."

"He said what?"

"That you went to Japan and --"

Yuri waves a hand. "No, the other thing."

"Oh, yeah, that you're a good skater."

Phichit sets his phone down and returns to the conversation. It doesn't look like he's missed a beat of it as he nods along.

"Probably cool to hear, right?" Phichit asks. "You were quite a fan of his for a while."

He hates how hot his face is. The blush itches his neck and makes his body heavy. Yuuri Katsuki said he was a GOOD skater.

For some reason, the knowledge of considering your competitors _good_ had evaded Yuri. It wasn't that he didn't know they were, but he merely couldn't afford the time focusing on anyone's techniques but his own. And noticing how good others were was a distraction, anyhow.

Except, he remembers, he hadn't always been so stubborn. He remembers vividly being in juniors and having to sit through Viktor and Georgi's competitions. Yuuri had been there, too, a meaningless name to him at the time; he'd stepped onto the ice and been someone mysterious.

His performances had a quality of both beauty and indecisiveness. He loved watching him for that; there was just something deeply personal in the programs he chose, like Yuuri was just out of reach of something he desperately wanted. Yuri didn't ever quite feel like he found whatever that was, either.

He thinks the words again: _beautiful and indecisive._ Hell, they taste bad in his mouth now. He didn't think junk like that anymore.

But back then he even thought to himself that they would get along. Because Yuri was indecisive, too. About the future and about a lot of things right now. Yuuri looked like someone with similar conflicts wound up tight inside him.

So yeah, he thought Yuuri was a _good_ skater but had done away with thoughts about getting along and beauty when he was to compete against him.

... But now Yuuri thought he was a good skater, too.

He just can't help it.

A grin cracks.

He almost forgets to answer Phichit. "I guess." And then the rest of what Phichit said catches up and his fists hit the table. “Wait, I never said I was a _fan_. Even if I ever was, I never said that!”

"I see." Chris’s cheek rests in his palm, elbow on the table, while the other hand's fingers tap an idle beat. His lashes are long; they blink at him slowly. His smirk makes Yuri's stomach churn with preemptive disdain at whatever is about to leave his mouth. "Every person must have a turn pining after Yuuri. Glad to see the tradition doesn't change between generations."

"No." His response is so curt that the two men startle a little. "That's -- no. That's just Viktor. Because he's stupid." The claim and its justification are weak but it's all he has. Words are failing him. Thoughts, too. There's only the beating of his heart and the way his hands are clenching in tight fists in his lap. They can't think THAT.

"Darling, our experience tells us quite differently."

His scowl weakens. Curiosity takes over like the traitorous emotion it is. "How?"

Phichit raises a hand. "I’ll go first! I've known Yuuri longer."

"Be our guest." Chris relaxes and drapes himself over the back of the chair to face Phichit. “I love a good romance.”

Oh. Yuuri didn't realize this was going to be story time. He can't stand the idea of that. How can they sit here and talk about _him_. He could leave; they couldn’t stop him. Except he wants to know. He wants to know everything about the mysterious and indecisive ice skater from his youth.

Ugh.

So he listens.

 

~

 

Phichit had given Yuuri space when they first moved in together in Detroit. Phichit was a little younger than Yuuri, so he expected him to take an initiative starting conversations and getting to know each other. Yuuri barely noticed the world outside himself, though. He remained as unobtrusive as possible, was overbearingly polite, and only spoke when spoken to.

During those years where Phichit was in juniors and Yuuri wasn't, he'd watch Yuuri from across the rink or from the stands while he stretched. He was fumbling and shy and pretty awkward if he was being honest, but sometimes he transitioned into this state out there on the ice that was elegant and emotional. Like he was finally deciding to let all the little storms of emotions and thoughts out in the form of incredible artistry.

These were usually followed by Celestino's exasperated pleas of, "Now skate like that all the time!"

Yuuri's eyes would widen then fall to the ice like he didn't know what Celestino referred to and felt too bad to ask. Every time.

Once, Phichit was sitting on a beach on a visit home to Thailand, and he watched a bird skitter across the little wet patch of sand at the shoreline. Every time a wave came in, it ran wildly up the shore, only to follow back down with a little sprinkle of footprints in its wake.

Phichit watched the awkward little dance between sandpiper and sea until, without warning, its wings unfurled and it caught immediately in the sea wind; the bird road the gust like a pro and flew off into the sky.

And suddenly Phichit thought of Yuuri. That was the first time he bled into his thoughts beyond the realms of the rink and their apartment. Yuuri, a sandpiper -- he smirked. Teetering on some unstable ground until something finally clicked, and he soared.

How was he doing? Many of the skaters were home this week for post-season holiday time with their families.

Yuuri stayed in Detroit. He always stayed.

That moment on the beach changed Phichit's mind: screw letting his roommate have the space and isolation he so desperately clung to. No one should be that alone.

It was a Friday night, and Phichit had arrived home from practice in time to catch Yuuri stalking away to his bedroom to be in solitude with his computer and studying and posters of that Nikiforov guy.

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri turned around in surprise, then his eyes flickered around the room as if searching for another Yuuri that Phichit could be addressing.

Finally, he answered, "Hi?"

"It's Friday night. What are your plans?"

"Um. Well, I..." Oh god, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Phichit never used that idiom before but it was perfectly encapsulated in Yuuri's stricken stare. He already broke him. He pushed on for the sake of his cause.

"Righto, then let's go out."

"... Out?"

"Yep. Wherever! It's finally warm. We can't stay in here, at school, or at the rink all the time." _You_ can't, that is.

Phichit's heart thumped despite the normalcy of the situation. One roommate demanding the other live a little. Except Yuuri was still staring at him in awe and with a little terror. Phichit didn't tend to have these thoughts, but suddenly he wondered if he was the odd one. Perhaps Yuuri was avoiding him all this time, and from his perspective, it read as this introversion.

"With who else?"

Phichit blinked. He hadn't gotten that far with plans, thought maybe they could figure that out together, but suddenly he knew the right answer to this question.

"No one." He smiled and bit his tongue to keep from nervously adding a dumb bit like “Just seeking some one-on-one roomie time” or “I only thought it was weird we live together and I don't know you.”

He wasn’t left to flounder for long. Yuuri relaxed at the answer. "Okay. That... yeah, that sounds good. I'll get changed and we can figure something out?"

Soon Phichit's only regret was that he hadn't forced their interactions a long time ago.

It was a month later they were staying up to ridiculous hours caught in deep conversation. Getting Yuuri caught on an impassioned monologue was a favorite pastime. It rarely happened, but when it did, his expressions would be fierce, brightened by some source of energy he often kept in check.  There was so much love and ambition and hope bottled tightly in the chambers of his heart, and he was beautiful when he shone like that.

Two months and Yuuri started doing things outside his room. They did homework together, aligned meals, scheduled TV shows. Their apartment became cozier and lived in, with mail left out on the table, old mugs neglected around the living room, and bags discarded on the couch.

Three months was the first time he got drunk with Yuuri. They'd managed to procure a few drinks around America's dumb drinking age. They were sitting crossed legged on their couch, facing each other, the TV on something nonsensical as background sound.

Phichit remembered that night well. Yuuri had given a presentation in class that day. Since they stayed in, there was no bother changing attire, so his hair was still slicked back. The white dress shirt had the first few buttons below the collar undone now.

It wasn't a secret to Phichit that Yuuri was, in general, attractive as hell. But this was usually in an adorable or elegant or charming way, depending on the day. This particular time, however, was the first in which Phichit noticed his friend was... well, hot.

Yuuri talked, gesturing with unusually wide hand motions and clutching a bottle. And poor Phichit couldn't listen, for he was much too criminally distracted by the skin between his shirt collars, the dips in his collarbone, and how his forearms looked with the sleeves of that shirt rolled up. His silky black hair was stark against the white of the shirt. Cheeks were pink from the alcohol, and when Yuuri pulled off his glasses to rub at his eyes, Phichit managed to pull away.

He hated it. A wine bottle watched him from their coffee table and Phichit was suddenly terrified drinking too much would make him do or say something he'd regret. Yuuri remained oblivious.

He did catch something new from Yuuri, for he finally opened up about the secrets of his Viktor Nikiforov obsession. Okay, obsession is a harsh word, but at the time Phichit hated the watchful eyes of Nikiforov looking down on him whenever he was in Yuuri's room. Phichit would be embarrassed to have posters like that up, but this was something Yuuri seemed unphased by.

When Yuuri waxed poetic about Viktor and how he inspired him, how his dog is named after him, how his dream is to compete against him, Phichit felt his heart wind in his chest. In as much as a person could love someone they didn't know and never met, Yuuri loved this figure skater. Dearly, unabashedly. They'd never talked about things like romance and dating -- and they weren't doing that now. But the passionate heat in Yuuri's cheeks and proud way he said Viktor's name might as well have been a love confession.

There was a trifling feeling in Phichit's gut that he couldn't identify. It was unpleasant and heavy and he begged it to go away, but the intoxicating thoughts of Yuuri being hot and Yuuri being in love fogged his brain. His throat felt heavy for lack of words.

Yuuri sighed then, a spiel about some super incredible short program of Viktor's done, and sat back. His gaze was to the TV box near the floor, where a little clock showed the time. His torso stretched long and slender. Phichit swallowed.

"I'm going to change," Yuuri declared. He hopped off the couch, jostling Phichit helpfully from his daze, though he then not-so-helpfully started the process of undoing his belt when only halfway to his room. He turned back and smirked, made a joke about not finishing all the alcohol without him, and left Phichit alone with his own cursed thoughts.

It was right then that Phichit forced himself to acknowledge his huge freaking crush on Yuuri Katsuki.

It made their friendship harder for a while. One part of Phichit wanted to avoid him. He felt bad for liking Yuuri this way. It felt invasive; Yuuri was a private person and Phichit was rapidly becoming his best friend. Vice versa, too -- Phichit had a lot of friends but Yuuri had such an easy, unassuming manner that he loved being around. After the few occasions Yuuri did talk about old friends, it was clear he was the type to form only long-lasting relationships. Phichit wanted to be one of those.

And one day he realized, _yes!_ He wanted to be in Yuuri's life a long time. He didn't necessarily want to _date_ him. He could have a crush without actually wanting a romance.

The more he thought about this revelation, the more he realized it applied to his situation. It was an absolute relief, and the discovery helped Phichit find the courage to tell Yuuri one night, after a year-and-a-half of living together, when Yuuri spilled a secret about a skater he'd...

 

 

_Phichit looks at Yuri and hesitates. Yuri barely notices the pause. He's mesmerized. Chris chuckles._

 

 

... spent some time with. The story made Phichit blush and block out the mental images of what Yuuri was describing for the sake of his sanity. Yuuri, as usual, was oblivious to the war in Phichit's head, and sat there running his hands through the air in embarrassment as he recounted the tale.

He said some other stuff that Phichit faded in and out for, his mind mostly racing about how to tell Yuuri, or _if_ to tell him, and _oh god_ he would probably react badly. He didn't like personal confrontations. Just because he and Phichit were so close didn't mean that he was an exception to any of Yuuri's rules. But he couldn't just keep sitting on this. So, screw it.

"Yuuri, I have something to tell you."

"Oh, yeah?" He grinned, leaned in, probably thinking Phichit had some similar experience to confess. Ironic.

It occurred to Phichit again just how comfortable Yuuri was with him now. He clenched his fists and stared at his lap and hoped nothing would ruin that. Belatedly he realized that sitting atop Yuuri’s bed was not the easiest place for this kind of conversation. Especially considering everywhere he looked, some old magazine cut out of Nikiforov was staring down on them like a watchful angel.

Too late to back out now though -- Yuuri watched him with a smile and Phichit felt his face become even hotter.

“I...” He averted his eyes one way, then another, and it was all either Nikiforov or Yuuri. “I just want to let you know, because I feel like I’m being dishonest if I don’t tell you this...” Yuuri’s smile was already flickering out, which was his own fault. What an awful way to start this, like when someone messages you, _Hey, I have a question._

He powered on. "I’m crushing on you like, kind of majorly. And that’s it really. I don’t want anything to come of it, I promise. I want to be friends with you, friends for a long time, and I think eventually my feelings will get sorted out. But right now that’s what’s in my head and what I'm feeling. I just wanted you to know.”

He stopped, took a shaky breath, and forced himself to look at Yuuri.

His stare was steady and even like he was trying not to express the wrong thing, but there was surprise evident in his eyes. His eyebrows raised just a little, and he involuntarily backed away when he straightened up. When he finally spoke, it was to say, "Me?"

What the hell. Yes, him. He'd just worked up a year's worth of courage to say this and Yuuri's first comment was --

Oh. And then he realized. Of course it was. Of COURSE Yuuri Katsuki, king of self-denial and self-consciousness, would be most affected by the fact that HE was the center of someone's idea of attraction. For some reason, this gave Phichit the sense of the upper-hand and he became a little more confident.

"Yes, Yuuri, you. I'm a little in love with you." He shrugged. "It's not really surprising that it's you, by the way. I just wanted you to know. Is that okay?"

Yuuri's stare stayed smooth. Then, finally, he blushed and brought his knees to his chest. "Oh, wow. Wow, okay."

Phichit was holding his breath. He didn't stop upon realizing it.

Yuuri stammered on. "First of all, thanks for telling me. I - I get why you did. Second of all... I know you said you don't want anything to come from it, but I just want to say this."

And here's Phichit's turn to be thrown to the hungry sharks of suspense. Yuuri ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses. For a few moments he'd had that dorky surprised expression, but now he'd broken into his focused one. The one he makes right before going out on the ice.

Yeah, that one. Phichit's small remaining oxygen supply barely catches him from swooning.

"I don't feel quite the same, but I've never felt that way about anyone. That's something with me, not you. I don't understand it. But despite that, I don't think I'd mind if you _were_ someone I felt that way about." He gave an awkward laugh. "I hope that makes sense."

Everything felt simultaneously heavy and light. He was still worried about the possible repercussions of this confession, but that strange-but-sensical reply was already better than he'd hoped for. So what Yuuri was saying was…

“What I guess I’m saying is, you’re my best friend, and I _do_ love you.”

Phichit's eyes stung and he felt the weight of something great lift from him like a crowd of balloons being set free. Wow, this had been way more burdensome of a secret than he'd realized. But it was all floating away now. “You’re my best friend too,” he said, unashamed of the beam on his face. "So you’re okay?”

Yuuri shrugged and sighed, but he was smiling, and it looked like somehow, someway, Yuuri needed this, too. “Yeah, actually. This feels… fine.”

Good, good. Phichit felt invincible right now. The only further their conversation went was when Yuuri asked why he chose tonight of all nights. Phichit, through some flush and stutter, explained it wasn’t until Yuuri talked about his night with a certain figure skater --

 

 

_“Ahh, what was his name again?” Phichit ponders dramatically at the ceiling. Chris gives him a hard nudge, and Phichit laughs and persists, “Nah, don’t think he was relevant.”_

_Yuri scowls, then realizes the implications of their exchange and balks._

 

 

\--that Phichit figured he would even be up to having a conversation about that sort of thing. Yuuri got embarrassed all over again, but Phichit insisted he was 100% more embarrassing tonight, and they laughed.

Phichit wandered to the door to part ways for the night, to probably lay in bed wallowing in relief with wide eyes and stare at the shadow of the ceiling above him. He was at the door frame stepping into the hallway when Yuuri said his name. His voice was on the brink of a tremble. Nervous energy was in the air again.

“If you want me to stop, tell me,” he said. Phichit barely managed to wonder what he meant when Yuuri had a hand on his wrist and was pulling them together. Phichit’s heart hammered, and a large part of him didn’t understand, but then a small part of him did, and it was a loud and thrilled and eager, and he felt himself gravitate toward Yuuri. His eyes closed.

Yuuri kissed like he talked. Gentle but determined, careful but decided. It wasn’t quite like he skated, no -- the him that showed itself on the ice was something a few layers under the everyday Yuuri. Phichit had yet to reach him there. But he recognized this.

It was nice and Yuuri let is transgress through all the stages of what a good kiss should be. Light, and then a little more, with a nip of lip and taste of tongue, until their lips felt heavy and they breathed the same air.

When Yuuri pulled away, his heartbeat was a drumroll in his head. His entire being pulsed as one.

“Just… just so we both never have to wonder.” He let go of his wrist; Phichit stepped into the hall in a blissful daze. Yuuri whispered, “Good night, Phichit,” while looking up shyly over the rims of his glasses, then he shut the door.

Phichit ran a thumb across his lower lip the entire ten feet to his bedroom, and then laid there an hour trying to seal the memory in-tact.

That never happened again and Phichit’s feelings did level out. His crush rationalized itself, matured, and he grew to fathom the admiration, respect, and love he felt for Yuuri. Confessing only deemed a good choice after that night. Everything was easier when Phichit didn’t have to feel like he was misrepresenting himself.

They never brought up the kiss; it stayed a secret between them and Phichit loved that. No matter where life took them, farther together or apart, he’d always have that little piece of Yuuri Katsuki.

 

~

 

Chris stares wistfully at Phichit. “I forget how innocent and romantic your story is until you tell it, every time.” Phichit shrugs and sips his coffee that must be cold by now, then picks his phone up and starts typing and swiping away.

Yuri stares straight down to the table. Some of what Phichit described was familiar, even the sappy shit. Listening had felt like walking into a place you'd never been but had seen pictures of. Yuri doesn’t like it, and he’s not sure whether he doesn’t like the fact that he’s apparently fallen for some stupid Katsudon charm _everyone_ falls for, or that it’d been so tell-tale.

The age difference kind of made it decided anyway, but he also didn’t want to date -- fuck! No. He wasn’t thinking about this.

Phichit and Chris stare at him with self-satisfied little smirks, and Yuri snaps, “What?”

“Did you think -” Phichit starts, but Chris cuts in with a firm gesture of his hand.

“Nope, my turn.” He straightens up, shoulders back, then something causes him to pause. He looks Yuri up and down. “However, I think I’ll have to give the censored version.”

“Get on with it,” Yuri demands.

“As you wish, good sir.” Chris winks. Yuri resists knocking that coffee mug up into his tidy face.

 

~

 

Chris knew of Yuuri Katsuki for a long time. There was nothing special there, because Chris tended to pay attention and was well-aware of most figure skaters in their ranks. But the first time he really looked at him was during the Finlandia Cup in 2012. Yuuri had placed 4th, putting his chance at making the GPF reliant upon how other skaters performed the rest of the season.

There he stood hours later in the hotel hallway, fumbling with a few foreign dollars at a vending machine. The dollar pushed back out at him and he sighed.

“Post-mortem snack?”

Yuuri jumped a whole step back. “Who -- oh. Um. Chris. Chris Giacometti. Second place. Congrats.”

Chris frowned. While he appreciated the recognition, something was sad about that being the first things to come to Yuuri’s mind. Or the first things he thought was worth saying.

“Yep. And Yuuri Katsuki. Food connoisseur.”

Yuuri hesitated with furrowed brows -- and that was the moment Chris noticed how attractive he was. Didn’t take long. His skating had been anxious and unsure, but there were moments he lost himself to the routine. That step sequence, he could recall easily now, was illusionary. Yuuri laughed suddenly and it took Chris a second to recall his joke. As he laughed, he could see it again, even though muted: Yuuri, caught in the confidence and air of a beautiful step sequence.

And there were _definitely_ some fine lines under that baggy jacket.

Well, what the fuck.

“Come have a drink with me.” He glanced at the assortment of colorful branded bags in the vending machine. “I'll even throw in some real food.”

“Oh.” The confidence flickered. His eyes flit around like he was looking for an escape. “You're… I… okay. I shouldn't be down long though.”

“Of course.”

Yuuri didn't have a flight until 11am. Chris snooped that information out pretty quick. After sitting under the soft hotel bar light with a simple mixed drink in front of him, Yuuri seemed a little more relaxed.

They talked. Yuuri listened as Chris complained about his latest failed relationship, and Chris listened as Yuuri talked about his home rink and not visiting Japan for a stacking number of years.

Yuuri’s oblivious modesty was charming. He nudged his glasses up his nose once a minute and gestured gently when he talked.

His hunch was definitely right -- Yuuri was worth getting to know a little.

The only issue was that he was pretty hard to read. Yeah, it was clear he was nervous and awkward and shy. But from what, why, and what was actually underneath all that fuzzy exterior stuff was still up in the air.

But Chris liked a mystery.

On the way through their hall -- their rooms were only four apart, it turned out -- right outside Chris’s door, he stopped Yuuri, leaned forward, and whispered something in his ear. The way the red filled his face was supremely adorable. With wide eyes he stared at Chris, maybe taking him in for the first time -- seeing if there was anything to like, maybe? What a soft soul he must have; Chris devoured every inch there was of him the moment he’d gotten a better look.

His heart leaped when Yuuri suddenly nodded and motioned for Chris to open his hotel door. He looked both directions down the hall while Chris did so, then nearly pushed him inside, a sudden anticipation that had Chris heady.

Anyway --

 

 

_“That's it?” Yuri snaps. “I'm not a kid!”_

_“Maybe not,” Chris acknowledges. He doesn't even sound patronizing, which is somehow more frustrating. “But you don't really probably don’t want to know the details this time.”_

_Even Phichit is blushing a bit. What a weakling. He says to Yuri, with a tone of feigned distress, “He’s right. Save yourself while you can, he WILL tell if you ask.”_

_Chris folds his hands on the table and smirks. “You’ve officially been warned.”_

_For a whole 10 seconds, Yuri holds his stare with a glare. Phichit fidgets, sighs, goes back to his phone, mumbling something about -- what the hell was that?_ Useless gays?

_“Well, is that it then?” Yuri acquiesces._

_Chris laughs and says, “Well, not quite.”_

_Phichit freezes. “What?”_

_“I said, not quite.”_

_“I know, but Yuuri never told me about another time.”_

_Instead of the teasing remark Yuri expects, Chris just frowns and stares at the empty mug in front of him. Yuri is nearing a heightened level of impatience; he’s got a lot to process... or forget. He isn’t sure which he wants to do yet, so he really ought to get going and fucking decide._

_“I bet I know why,” Chris declares. “He’s a complicated guy, that Yuuri.”_

_“We don’t have all day!”_

_“I do have all day,” Phichit corrects, and wow what an annoying guy._

_Chris shoots a sympathetic look at Yuri. “Sorry kid, but Viktor’s a tad involved in this one.”_

_“ARE YOU FREAKING -”_

 

 

It only happened once more, a year later.

They greeted each other at the free skate after the Rostelecom Cup finished, and Yuuri, while stuffing a gym bag and ignoring his coach calling him to go, looked pointedly away and asked Chris if he was staying in the hotel where most of the skaters were.

Chris replied with his room number.

Hours later, when all had stilled in Chris’s hotel room and the place smelled of hotel septic and sweat -- not a sexy mix, believe it or not -- Yuuri’s head laid on the pillow next to his. He stared at the ceiling, the lamplight on the bedside table making his features glow. His hands were behind his head, his hair was pushed back, his glasses returned. They were talking idly of their trips home, the other skaters -- they skipped delicately around the topic of Yuuri’s performance. He’d not placed well and Chris could tell he didn’t take that sort of thing well, but balled it up in his chest as a sense of utter failure.

Viktor’s name came up. Maybe it was Chris’s fault for not reading the way Yuuri’s voice got a little dreamy and the way he mentioned Viktor as some sort of legend. Which he is, Chris didn’t want to argue that, but Chris _knew_ Viktor. He knew he was real and human and not perfect. However, Yuuri did not carry this realization in the way he spoke about him.

So Chris was confused by the way Yuuri reacted when he mentioned that once, just once, he and Viktor shared a night. He thought they'd have a good laugh about it, discuss some gorey details, maybe motivate themselves into a round two, and instead Yuuri shot up into a sitting position. “Are you serious?”

“Um. Yeah.” Chris hoisted himself onto his elbows. “Is that surprising?”

Yuuri only stared at him for a while. His mouth moved without sound like he was struggling to find words. Opening, closing, hand running through his hair, until he sighed, heavy, and fell back onto the bed. “No. Sorry. I don’t know why I... reacted like that.” He brought his own hands in front of his face and stared at them like he was just noticing they were his own. They stayed silent like that a while. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind Chris’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look directly at him again.

Eventually Yuuri dropped his hands and his head turned to Chris. He looked at a spot on the duvet. “He’s the reason I started skating.” His lips pursed and he turned away as soon as the words were there, as if this was a secret he’d tried hard not to spill.

“Oh, I see.” Chris thought about that a moment. And yeah, that made a lot of sense. “Why don’t you try talking to him?”

Yuuri shook his head. He waited for a response about being too shy, too star-struck, but Yuuri just didn’t say anything. He let the conversation turn light until they were drifting, then smiled shyly at Chris the way he’d done when they first met, and left.

 

~

 

Yuri doesn’t really understand what’s not merely way too personal and weird about sharing this story, but Phichit seems amazed.

“Oh, wow, Yuuri,” he breathes. “I bet that threw him into an identity crisis. An indirect fuck.”

“What.”

But they ignore Yuri, and Chris nods along with that absurd statement. “Yep, one degree of separation and all that. Really though, he could’ve had Viktor way sooner if he’d just asked.”

“And he definitely put you on a pedestal after that.”

They mill through some lousy conversation that Yuri tunes out. His head is fuzzy and his face freaking hurts from all the scowling and expressing he’s been doing. This has all been kind of regrettable. He doesn’t WANT to know these things about Yuuri Katsuki.

Right?

That’s why he’d gotten so pissed off witnessing him CRY in the bathroom after the previous year’s GPF loss.

He’d not been perfect, but those imperfections were stylized and artistic and static. He messed up his jumps. He got flustered by mistakes. He looked on the precipice of elegance all the time. Sometimes he reached it.

Everything else was just another layer underneath, deep and in those places Yuri hated reaching with people, because when you did --

Oh.

Something terrifying clicks into place. He stands up.

The two stop their ranting about how in love Viktor and Yuuri clearly are now (that was the gist, at least).

“Hey, you okay?” Phichit asks.

“Was that too much for your hear?”

Fuck, Chris is annoying. Phichit’s so annoying, too. These older skaters always think they can see through to his core -- that because THEY were young once, they know what he must be feeling.

Well it doesn’t fucking work like that.

Just because they had their hang ups about Yuuri Katsuki, their little feelings and desires and whatever, doesn’t mean they understood HIS feelings. _They_ wanted to do things like... he shudders. It’s just different for Yuri.

He already knows he doesn’t want to _date_ him or have _any_ of the encounters they’d just shared. Yuri isn’t dumb. He’s 15, tells people he’s 16 because it’s less than 3 months away so what the fuck, and so of COURSE that’s not on his mind.

It’s just.

His fists clench. He could kick the table or something, but that wouldn’t make him feel better, would it?

He hates that Viktor brought this confusion into his life and that Yuuri couldn’t just stay a crying guy behind a stall door.

Because Yuuri is and always has been _inspiring_ . There, he said it! He doesn't try to be anything but his dumb, useless, handsome, _talented_ self, even when he doesn't know a thing about himself and is clueless to the world around him. It's so much easier to love someone when you really, _really_ know them, and that's what is so terrifying.

He feels like he needs to take a deep breath after the thought.

Most of all, Yuri hates the way he wants Yuuri to do just as well as him -- and maybe he’d be okay if he did better? -- in the GPF.

Well, no, scratch that. Yuri still needs to do better. WAY better.

“I’m leaving!” he announces. He snatches his bag from his chair back and strides out. They definitely burst into hushed, snickering whispers, but he doesn’t care.

Halfway through the front doors of the hotel he nearly slams right into someone. He rears back, prepared to shoot whoever a glare and slide out of the building, but he freezes.

“Yurio!” Viktor cheers and puts his hands on his hips. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s our hotel,” he snaps. He can’t look at him. He CAN’T.

“Hey, Yurio.” The name, it’s not his freaking name and he hates it. But he hates it a little less right now. Still, Yuri can’t look at _him_ either. “After coffee we’re going to go shopping downtown. Wanna come?”

He can’t, he just can’t. But then he does. He looks at him.

Yuuri’s bundled up in a jacket to fight the December chill. He has his scarf pulled down to speak. His cheeks are tinged pink by the cold. There’s a cheery warm smile on his face and his glasses are pushed up high.

His heart thumps hard. Those two fools inside don’t understand, but no one else has to ever know. It’s okay.

“Not a chance, Katsudon.” He steps outside, leaving the two of them caught in the door. The heat on his face combats the morning air well. That’s one good use for it.

“See you, then,” Yuuri says with a little wave. He’s turning to go and the words fall out of Yuri’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Good luck tomorrow.” It comes out like a threat. He almost winces, ALMOST internally scolds himself, but then Yuuri cracks a smile. His heart hammers and he wants to clutch it and throw it on the floor. Then stomp on it for good measure. Traitor.

“Thanks. You too.” Yuuri disappears inside. Viktor pauses to shoot Yuri a thumbs up, which he turns his nose up to and refuses to understand.

Now he’s gone, too. Yuri stands still for a little bit, blown by the emotional turmoil he’s just endured.

He takes off down the sidewalk. Screw Yakov and Lilia and their rules. He can find his way around this city and he’ll be safe.

The Barcelona sky is overcast, but there are patches of blue, so maybe the afternoon will end up sunny. Maybe there will even be a sunset. That would be nice.

The sidewalk passes under his feet. Anything he discovered today would be kept close and silent to his heart. As he got older, these feelings would reconcile themselves as Phichit’s did. It would be simpler soon, and if the rest of these idiots were going to figure stuff out, he most certainly could, too. Plus he gets to watch them screw everything up first.

Yeah, he could deal with that. There was nothing to chase, no Yuuri or uncertain future or understanding of his own stupid feelings. Just what he wants right now, and that's to win gold tomorrow.

Of course, little does he know, someone flying through the Barcelona streets on a motorcycle is chasing _him._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, please don't forget to let me know you were here! 
> 
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